{August 19, 2011}   Things to Do

Little background: Since I started at the methadone clinic I have literally had five counselors. The first one was amazing. I still miss him. The others varied from torturous to ambivalent. One was both EXTREMELY angry and resembled a sea cow. Trust me there may be nothing more frightening than a murderous manatee with the ability to revoke my access to government drugs that prevent me from going into violent opiate withdrawls.

My new counselor, Marvin, is a pretty nice guy. However, I’ve got a few issues. First of all who the fuck is named Marvin? My pet name for him, completely appropriate although unoriginal, is Marvin the Martian. Second of all he’s got some sort of weird lazy eye/cataract issue that makes it really difficult to make eye contact. This is not a good quality for a counselor to have, as you are expected to look into their eyes and bare your soul. Thats pretty damn hard to do when you can’t make goddamn eyecontact. Thirdly, I think he’s a little slow. Again, NICE AS PIE! But how the hell can I expect someone to help me sort my life out when he needs my help to fill out simple paperwork?

That said, he suggested I make a to do list and cross things off when I feel overwhelmed. He also suggested a gangload of ridiculous ideas (Go for more bike rides by myself? I bike alone for miles EVERY DAY!!!!) So I’m feeling overwhelmed. I made a to do list. Maybe it’ll work. If not at least poor Marvin will be pleased.


I’m a twenty-nine year old recovered-ish heroin addict in the midwest.  I live with three tweekers,  five junkies and myself whatever i may be.  I’m also the only person in the house with a real job.  It may pay minimum wage and involve slinging pornography to men who ate paste in kindergarden and, actually, may still; but no one has complained about my giant dread mohawk and  I actually get paid to debate the viability of George Romero’s theory of zombie evolution as depicted in the film Dawn of the Dead (the original of course). Since I’ve been regaling friends and c0workers with the grotesque, pathetic, unreal, larger than life, cautionary and hilarious tales of life in my house for years, I though maybe I’d have a go at a blog.  I’m not gonna lie, I’m terrified that this will be a colossal failure.  My lonely little words will languish in some dusty dead end, wasting away unread.  If a word falls in the internet and no one reads it does it still matter?  Well fuck it.  I’m going for it.  I’ve lived much of my adult life in hiding (Hello? Almost thirty? Junkie? Minimum wage video store clerk?) So here goes.  My name’s Kate.  This is my life.  I’d love it if you’d join me as I commit literary seppuku ( get it?kate eviscerate?) and spill my guts for all ( or at least someone I hope) to read.

et cetera